


a drowning grip on your adoring face

by ratherembarrassing



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Period Typical Homophobia, clumsiness as a plot point, ladies trying to play baseball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherembarrassing/pseuds/ratherembarrassing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five times peggy comes to angie's baseball game, and one time angie actually plays well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a drowning grip on your adoring face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turnitintolove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitintolove/gifts).



> written for the cartinelli holiday exchange, a gift for @jellysnack. the letter said, "I love me some fluff and am a sucker for Angie being highly distracted to the point of clumsy around Peggy the clueless/useless Peggy. I also love art if you are so inclined." being utterly lacking in artistic ability, i chose to go in this direction.
> 
>  
> 
> title is from belle & sebastian's 'piazza, new york catcher'.

1.

 

Angie is what her Ma likes to call functionally graceful.

At the L&L, where dropped plates mean less tips and docked pay, she carries dishes balanced on her arms like she's got her own secret stash of Adhesive X. On stage, every movement is a deliberate manifestation of the character she's giving life to.

There's only one other place where Angie's body does exactly what she wants it to do, and that's at home plate waiting to knock a baseball clean out of the park.

The rest of the time? Angie's what her Ma likes to call a total klutz.

Angie's been playing ball since before the war, when she was young enough that her Ma didn't mind too much, and then when she was old enough that her Ma minded a whole lot. She's not so good that she ever tried out for the league once it started up, but she took her Ma to an All American Girls game in Queens in '45. After that, she stopped complaining so much, having seen all the sailors in the stands. 'You'll catch yourself a nice boy,' she'd said, patting Angie's hand. The thought still makes Angie chuckle, since it's either that or cry.

None of that stops Angie from playing, though, and every Saturday morning she slips out of Howard's penthouse while Peggy's still asleep, as easily as she ever did out of her parents' house without waking her Ma, and catches the train to Brooklyn.

That lasts all of a month in her fancy new home, until one morning she's halfway across the foyer when Peggy startles her halfway to the grave. "Am I ever going to find out the honest way where you're off to at such an hour, or do I have to put my considerable skills to sneaking after you?"

On the front of her uniform it says  _Joey's Autos_ , on the back it says Rhubarb because that's a nickname she'll never live down, and Peggy's leaning against the kitchen doorway in her silky, pink robe, a mug of tea in hand like she's been waiting for Angie for a while.

If she's being real honest, which is something Angie's almost too good at, she'd been keeping it a secret from Peggy for as long as she could. Not because Peggy would get the wrong idea or anything. More like she'd get the right idea. And then she'd be out on the street with her belongings tossed after her.

Except Peggy doesn't toss her out. Peggy just gets that smile on her face, the one Angie loves a little too much because sometimes she thinks she might be the only one that puts it on Peggy's face, and asks if she could come along some time.

Besides, the only way Peggy'll ever know Angie's got the best blooper in all of New York City is if she comes along.

 

…

 

So now, no time being like the present, the prettiest lady in all of New York City is in the stands to watch her play.

"Good luck, Angie."

The bat she's warming up with goes sailing clean out of her hands and into the dugout, bouncing off the wall to clatter against the concrete floor. "Hey, watch it!" someone shouts from inside.

Behind the fence, Peggy's taken up a spot right at the front, and that's a terrible place to watch a ball game from, but she's dressed like she's about to meet the King of England himself, not watch Angie run around a patch of Brooklyn dirt for a couple of hours in her bloomers, and Angie forgets what she was going to say.

It's a beautiful summer day, and the heat's starting to get to her.

"You, too, English." But that doesn't make any sense, Angie realizes two seconds too late, and Peggy's smile turns a little confused as she watches Angie making her way across the grass.

" _English_?" Doris chuckles from where she's taken up a spot on the bench, as Angie ducks into the dugout and away from Peggy's distracting presence to retrieve her bat. "You mean she finally came?"

Angie's tempted to make a joke, but the girls on the team already give her enough grief for shacking up with Peggy, having seen right through her the second she made casual mention of the new regular at the diner with the nice voice, the crummy job, nowhere to live, the  _weird_  job—

It's possible Angie mentioned Peggy. A few times.

"You two done pretending you're just roommates yet?" Doris asks, voice raised to grab the attention of the girls standing at the top of the steps.

"Hey, stick a sock in it," Angie hisses, snatching Doris' cap off her head and shoving it against her face, poking her head out of the dugout to make sure Peggy hasn't wandered within earshot. "It isn't like that."

"You wish," Doris chuckles, cap firmly back on her head and a smirk on her face. But her eyes are kind, because they're the same this way, and Doris's gal's in the stands right now, maybe sitting near Peggy, but behind her because who even sits that close to the ground at a baseball game?

She really should tell Peggy it's better to sit further back. It's a better view back there, Peggy could see better.

"Yeah," Angie sighs, and hefts her bat over her shoulder. "I wish."

 

…

 

Angie really does have the best blooper. Her grip is light, her stance is solid, and as long as the sun doesn't get in her eyes she's got a dead aim. She hopes Peggy's alright in the sun, what with her fair, English skin and all.

"Strike one!"

Well that's embarrassing. Angie shakes her head to clear the cobwebs and whatever else is floating around in there, steps back up to the plate, and tries not to think about Peggy right behind her, watching as she—

"Strike two!"

There are some snickers from the dugout, and she's going to clock whoever shouts, "Hey Rhubarb, you gotta swing the bat to hit the ball!" as soon as she's done. Why do they have to embarrass her like this when Peggy's  _right there_  in the stands and—

The ball is halfway to the plate and Angie reacts without thinking, without adjusting her grip, without shifting her feet, and the bat goes sailing out of her hands in the direction of third base as her feet slip out from under her and she lands on her ass in the dirt.

What the hell just happened?!

 

…

 

"Forgive me," Peggy says, sitting beside Angie as the 16 train rattles its way back to Manhattan. "I'm not especially familiar with the rules of baseball, but isn't the point to hit the ball?"

With a groan, Angie buries her face in her hands. She's good at baseball. In fact she's pretty darn great at baseball. Never in her entire life has she been struck out all three times at bat.

Peggy's never coming to watch her play ever again.

 

…

 

2.

 

"What do you mean you can't play 'cause you got cramps?" Geanie shouts. "We all got cramps!"

They go on like that for a while. Angie tunes out right around the time Doris stops using her words and starts answering with groans. She can't tell if Doris is putting it on or not, and to be honest she doesn't care. If Doris isn't playing second, then Janet isn't playing first, which means Angie's playing first, and the last time Angie played first was a dis-ass-ter.

Literally. Lord, she was sore for a week, and sorry for longer.

And of course it's this week that she's going to make a huge fool of herself, when she's finally let Peggy come back and watch Angie again. By which Angie means watch the game, and not Angie specifically, because why would Peggy do that? Why would Angie want Peggy to do that?

Yeah, like she doesn't know the answer to that one, or who Rita Hayworth is, either.

Angie buries her face in her glove, groaning right along with Doris.

 

…

 

Angie thinks about what Doris had jokingly said, about what Angie was wishing. She thinks about it a lot.

She and Peggy have been living in that big, old penthouse for almost three months now, and if anything her stupid crush is worse than it ever was. You would think seeing someone three days into a bout of the flu would knock the shine off, but somehow Peggy managed to make even that look, okay, not exactly outstanding, but on her worse day, Peggy is still a class act.

Even now, Peggy's managed to make friends in the stands, sitting beside Doris' gal, which is probably a terrible idea, now that Angie thinks on it. Looking around, she realizes she has no idea how many outs there have been, but she really needs to not let Meg talk too much to Peggy because Meg's got an even bigger mouth than Doris and—

 

…

 

"Angie!"

Peggy's voice is coming from very far away, and the world's tilting beneath her where she's somehow lying on the grass, and when Angie opens her eyes there are two Peggys looking down at her.

"Hey, English— ow!"

"Daring, please just keep very still for now."

The way Peggy's voice sounds like it's being strangled in her throat, Angie wonders what the hell happened. "Did I get hit by a truck?" she asks, and Peggy chokes out a relieved laugh, fingers curling around Angie's hand where it's resting limply on the grass.

"It seems you're as good a fielder as you are a batter," Peggy answers, helping Angie sit up, her hand warm through Angie's uniform at her back.

"Only as good as when you're here," Angie grumbles. Her head is pounding, and she can feel the bruise forming across her cheekbone already, but Peggy's hand is doing a damn fine job of distracting her from the pain.

"Come on, ladies!" Geanie shouts, storming across the grass. "Get her off the ground."

The girls all move to lend a hand, but it's Peggy that pulls her to her feet and guides her from the field, her hand never leaving Angie's back.

 

…

 

The bruise on her face would be award-winning, if they handed out awards for that kind of thing.

Angie presses on it, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, just as Peggy appears in the doorway, a jar of ointment Angie knows she uses for her own bruises.

"Stop that, you'll make it worse." Peggy steers her over to sit on the toilet lid, tilting her head back with such a light touch Angie's eyes flutter closed. "This might sting a little, but it will do the trick."

Angie doesn't care, if it means Peggy'll keep touching her face like this, and she leaves her eyes closed as Peggy's fingers spread a cream that makes her skin tingle across her cheek. She knows that for her job Peggy does a lot of hard things with her hands, but the way Peggy's handling her now, Angie couldn't believe she's ever hurt a fly, even if Angie's used the arnica ointment on Peggy at least six times since she's known about her job.

"That smells like Christmas," she sighs, as Peggy finishes rubbing it in gently, and when she opens her eyes Peggy's looking at her, not with that smile she gets sometimes on her face, but something like it. Something more than it.

"Get some rest," Peggy says, and then presses a kiss to Angie's eyebrow, above her bruise and ointment-covered cheek. "Peggy's orders."

 

…

 

3.

 

(She hits three ground balls in a row, and on her fourth at bat the pitcher finally puts her out of her misery and walks her.

If Peggy were in the stands Angie'd be even more mortified than usual, but Peggy isn't in the stands. Angie doesn't know where she is, but it's not in the stands, and it's not at home, and last Angie heard it wasn't at her secret spy office.

There was a— dammit, she doesn't even know what. Something Peggy had to deal with, something that was far enough away that she'd packed a bunch of stuff and told Angie she'd check in weekly.

And Peggy did check in, three weeks in a row, promptly at 7pm every Thursday.

It's Saturday now, and Peggy still hasn't checked in a fourth time.

She catches a cleat to the shin in the 8th inning, and it doesn't break the skin but hurts like heck, and when Angie finally limps home that afternoon to find the house as empty as she left it, she hobbles up the stairs to dig the arnica ointment out of Peggy's bathroom cabinet.

She doesn't mean to stop by Peggy's neatly made bed, but her leg really is killing her, and after she rubs the cream in she just stops for a minute, and lets herself lie down.)

 

…

 

4.

 

"What time do we have to be on the train to make it to your game on time?"

With a swallowed sigh, Angie drops her glove into her carry bag, but Peggy's face poking around her bedroom doorway does her in, just like always.

"Game's at two," she says, taking a seat on the bed. Angie props her heels on the bed frame and tries not to notice that Peggy's dressed for the occasion, yellow sundress and her hair twisted back, as if there was never any doubt she would be coming along. "We should get going at midday."

Angie doesn't know how Peggy's doing it, standing there like she hadn't only arrived home the night before.

"Excellent," Peggy says, slapping the door frame happily. "Enough time to stop for some lunch beforehand."

 

…

 

It's like her muscles stop working. She watches the ball, she lines up her bat, and somewhere between her brain and her arms she remembers Peggy's watching her and it all goes to hell.

The coach pulls her after her second strikeout, and Angie sulks in the change rooms for the rest of the game.

 

…

 

"Are you sure you know how to play?"

The team usually go for a drink or several after the game at this little bar across from their home park, and Angie usually goes too, but not when Peggy's come along. The way she's been playing though, she wanted to drink some crappy beer more than she wanted to keep Peggy away from all the other girls. And Peggy'd been having a nice time, last Angie had seen as she ducked out of the bar.

She's not sure how long she's been out on the pavement watching the sun set, but it's been long enough for her to snag a bat from the bags of equipment they have to leave piled up at the door before they're allowed to come in.

"Yes!" Angie replies with a snap that fizzles out before it barely even begins, bat dangling from her free hand, the other occupied with her beer. "I dunno, I'm just having a bad run."

"Well, why don't you show me what you've got now." Peggy takes up a place on the railing, feet propped up on the bottom rung. "No pressure anymore, everyone's gone home."

"Peg, I—"

"Or you could teach me. I'm a fast learner."

Angie doesn't think this is a very good idea. She's maybe had a few too many beers, and she's feeling crappy, but she says, "Alright…" anyway, and waves Peggy over.

She tosses the bat in Peggy's direction, and she snags it out of the air with reflexes that scare Angie, but the way she tries to hold the bat has Angie busting up laughing, and it drains a little of the black tar feeling from her stomach.

"Peggy, you've gotta— hang on, no, like—"

It's easier if she just shows Peggy how her arm's dropping down. It's how she was taught, kinda. She doesn't think Peggy would appreciate Angie smacking the bare underside of her arm every time she lets it drop, which is what Charlie used to do to her when she was all of ten and barely taller than the bat.

"Like this," she says, and laces her arms around Peggy's waist, hands curling around her forearms until their elbows are snug, Peggy's resting atop Angie's. "Up like this."

She knew it before she did it, but holding Peggy like this is too much, and she can't make herself let go.

"Okay," Peggy says, when they've been standing there too long, "then what do I do?"

"You, um." But Angie doesn't know. She's played baseball all her life, and she has no idea. "The bat…."

She lets her hands drop away, because this was a terrible idea, but Peggy's quicker than that, dropping the bat to catch Angie's wrist, not letting her get away like she's trying, not letting her step back so when she turns around they're too close, and Peggy's got that look again. The one without the smile, but the something more—

Peggy doesn't kiss her brow this time. In the last light of the day, Peggy kisses her like the something more is Angie's same something more, as the bat Peggy dropped slowly rolls away from their feet.

 

…

 

5.

 

The pitcher winds up, Angie's muscles tense just a fraction more, and as she takes a swing her foot slips on the the summer-dried grass and she's pirouetting onto her ass.

She thought it would be fine. She thought now that—

There might not be any crying in baseball, but Angie hasn't been able to play baseball in a couple of months now, so she doesn't let that stop her.

"Darling, are you alright?" Peggy must have rushed down from the stands, because she's suddenly at Angie's side, cupping her jaw to tilt her head up.

"You've ruined me," Angie cries, and it's a good thing they're playing the Liberty Ladies today, because that whole team is queerer than, well, Angie's team, and the way Peggy's stroking Angie's hair is a dead give away to even the densest of folks.

And that only makes Angie cry harder, the thought that there's something to give away, because now that they've worked things out, Angie thought she'd be cured.

_'Cured from what?' Peggy had asked, halfway to sleep in Angie's bed the night before._

_Angie'd laughed then, curled up beside her. 'From being so badly in love I could hardly see straight, let alone swing a bat straight.'_

_'Well, we can't have you cured of that.' Peggy had kissed her, a sleepy nuzzle against Angie's temple. 'You'll just have to be blind forever.'_

"You're being ridiculous," Peggy says, helping Angie to her feet.

"Maybe I am," Angie says, finally catching her breath. She lets Peggy lead her away from the field, and she can hear Doris telling the ump to leave her be before they disappear around the back of the stands.

Maybe she'll never play baseball well ever again. And that would be too bad because, "Hey, for all you know I've never been able to play baseball."

Peggy's leaning against the fence post, a worried look on her face. "Angie."

"I mean really." Angie shrugs. "You've never seen it."

"One day I will." Peggy takes one of Angie's hands, shuffles their fingers together. "I'm sure of it."

And, Angie realizes, Peggy really believes that. "What if it never comes back? Or if it takes fifty years?"

She's being silly, talking like this. They've only just started this thing. It's practically rude to be saying this, but she can't even play baseball anymore, so what's she got to lose?

"Well, I will just have to stick around to see it."

Peggy's got that smile on her face, but the thing Angie was missing before is that it was all just a cover for that something more. But she can see it now, that something more inside it. "You mean that?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

There's a swell of noise from the other side of the stand, which either means Angie's team's all out or Doris actually managed to bat some in for once. Angie doesn't actually care.

"English—"

"Angie, did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?"

 

…

 

1.

 

There's a rock in Angie's shoe, rattling around in the curve beneath her toes, but not even that bothers her enough to throw her off her game.

Angie's first to bat, and the first sound from the crowd, before anyone else makes a peep, comes from Peggy.

It's almost embarrassing. But only almost, because watching Peggy leap to her feet to give a cheer of celebration is damn near the greatest thing in the world as far as Angie's concerned, even if she hasn't done anything to celebrate yet.

But there will be something to celebrate. It didn't take fifty years to come back, but it didn't take fifty years for the feel of Peggy's eyes on her— the feel of her love, and what it does to Angie without her even being aware of it, even when she's not there— to become second nature, either. But it did. It is.

On the mound, the pitcher winds up, and Angie reads the shift in her stance like a neon sign, adjusts her grip before the ball is away, and sends it flying out of the park.


End file.
